by Karen M Cox
I was afraid that this was how it would go. He was being stubborn, not wanting to admit that he’d been swayed by gossip and innuendo, and probably aware too, as perceptive as he was about people, that Lizzie wasn’t completely innocent. But if he could read people that well, surely, he had to know how I felt about her—how much I loved her.
“I’m a grown man, and your approval is not required.”
“So much for honoring your father, eh?”
It was an impulsive comment on his part, spoken from his hurt pride. I couldn’t let it anger me, but neither could I let it pass. “I do honor you, but honor doesn’t always mean obey—not for an adult.”
“I don’t understand. You’ve been so levelheaded about everything in your life: school, your career, your friends, everything but this young woman. How did she get her hooks into you so tight? Or do I not want to know that?”
Lizzie’s image floated past in my mind’s eye—all smiles and brilliance and an electric charge all around that curvy, little body that resonated with my own. It would be a lie to say what was between us wasn’t physical, at least in part.
“Lizzie is beautiful, even more so than the last time you saw her. Men still look at her when she walks into a room. My friend Richard wanted to ask her out—that is, before he knew about us.”
“Is that it? Does she appeal to your pride as well as your body? Because she’s the woman every man wants?”
“Give me some credit, Dad. I’m not in love with just her looks. She’s smart too. Like I said, she’s studying to be a midwife, and—”
“I heard you, and that’s a good and admirable thing for her to do. But you’ll have a demanding career of your own, and a doctor needs a woman who can mind the home, who can take care of his family, someone to help him, not be away helping everyone else.”
I wondered if he would have said such a thing if Mama were still living and helping him care for the flock. As much as her death shaped the man I’d become, I realized it must have changed him, too, in ways I couldn’t even begin to understand.
“Dad, I don’t know how we’ll work it all out, but I know we can. I think Lizzie is who’s best for me, and I want her for my wife—if she’ll have me, that is.”
“What makes you think she won’t?” He snorted with a humorless laugh.
“I believe she will be”—I paused, searching for the right word—“cautious about making the right decision.” I left it there, still resisting any explanation, including that Lizzie turned me down two years ago.
“That’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard since this conversation began, but it won’t be an issue. She won’t say no.”
It was so tempting to tell him that in the past she had done just that, but I hesitated to let him that close to the truth of us—not while he was still so set against her.
“At any rate”—he went on—“if you’re worried she won’t accept you, shouldn’t that tell you something? Can’t she see all the advantages she would gain as your wife?”
“It’s not that simple.” How could I possibly explain about Lizzie without betraying her trust? “I know Lizzie’s seen precious little kindness, except from a very few people, like her family and Doc Miller and Mrs. Gardener. I mean, she’s made some friends at school, but that’s only happened recently. Her experiences in Orchard Hill—they’re why it’s difficult for her to have faith in other people. I do think she loves me, but—”
“This lack of faith you speak of doesn’t bode well for a lifelong commitment.”
“It’s hard to have faith when you’ve been hurt over and over again.”
“No, Son. The trials of a human existence aren’t excuses for walking without faith—in each other, or in the Lord for that matter.”
“But see, when I was child, you and Mama and everyone else in my life taught me about kindness first-hand, and I built my faith on that foundation. Someone who doesn’t learn that at an early age starts the walk of faith already behind. That person has to wait until she’s old enough to understand it at her Holy Father’s knee, regardless of what the world shows her, and that is a rocky road to travel.
“Lizzie only got one chance from the people of Orchard Hill, and although her family wasn’t cruel to her, they didn’t teach her those lessons that you taught me. God’s kindness—His forgiveness and mercy—seemed so far away to her. But when we started spending time together that summer, she saw compassion and acceptance from someone who wasn’t her family, and I believe that was the start of a new path for her. Now, she’s beginning to see kindness from other people too, and that’s a few more baby steps toward a deeper faith in others, one that could last a lifetime.”
“If what you’re saying is true, Miss Quinlan may not be able to return your love with the fervor that you bestow it, not now or maybe not ever. If she won’t, or can’t, she will break your heart. I don’t know exactly what form the heartbreak will take—another man, a bitter heart, contempt in her words, loneliness if she leaves you—but I very much fear you will suffer because you love her.” His voice diminished in strength and volume. “And I don’t know if I can bear to see it.”
I pondered how to explain it to him for a minute, before it occurred to me how it might make sense.
“Even if she breaks my heart—and I don’t think she will—loving her will make me better than I used to be.”
“How could that be?”
“When Mama passed away, you suffered, and so did I. But knowing Mama and loving her changed us for the better, didn’t it? Because she was on this Earth and we loved her, you and I are the men we are today. Wasn’t that worth loving her in spite of the pain we suffered when she died?”
He shook his head, not willing to follow me into this painful abyss. I had never pushed him quite this hard to face his grief, but I wanted him to see that I knew the risk I was taking by allowing myself to love Lizzie Quinlan—knew it better than a lot of young men my age, and I wanted to take it anyway.
“Dad, you took the pain and grief of your loss and wrestled something good out of it. Because of Mama’s love, even after she was gone, you worked your life into something worth doing—your traveling ministry. In a different way, I believe Lizzie’s love will do that for me too. And I think eventually you’ll see that my faith in her is not misplaced.”
“It gives me no pleasure to bring this up, but I must ask you: the rumors about her past behavior—is there any truth to them? And if there is, why doesn’t it bother you that other men—”
“Don’t.” I raised my voice and my hand, and then lowered them both slowly. “Please, sir, don’t disrespect her. She entrusted me with some of her past, her real past, not the one that Orchard Hill gossip fabricated for her. No one truly understands the road she’s walked. I certainly don’t, and neither do you. To say any more than that would betray her trust in me, and I won’t do that.”
“And let he who is without sin cast the first stone?”
I nodded.
“Well, I guess that was one lesson you learned well.” His eyes held a mixture of wistfulness and pride.
“I’ll admit, sometimes the ugly part of me wants to change what happened before I met her or forget it, but the only way a marriage with Lizzie will ever work is if she and I build our lives in the present and for the future—and don’t keep looking at the past.”
“Go forth and sin no more?”
A stab of guilt pierced my conscience. I needed to marry her, and soon, for a variety of reasons, but that physical point of no return was one of them. “As best we can.”
“What will you do if you can’t erase the past from your memory? Or if she can’t?”
“I don’t want to erase it, because our pasts led us to the here and now. What we have to learn is how to accept the past for what it was and change our separate paths to one we can walk together.”
“Your mother joined my path and walked it with me.”
“I know.”
“You should be the head of your o
wn house, Billy Ray.”
“The head and the heart have to work together, sir, or the body doesn’t function at all.”
“Well now, I know that.” Dad sounded exasperated. “It sounds as if you’re quite determined about this—path of equals.”
“I am.”
“I won’t lie to you just to make you feel better. This choice and this woman, they both worry me.” He sighed. “But what you’ve said today has merit and it has spiritual truth. It will take a level of forgiveness beyond what many an ordinary man could muster, but you are your mother’s son, and with God’s help you might be capable of bestowing it. I will pray about it. I will pray for peace with your decision. And I will pray for you, and for Miss Quinlan.”
“Thank you, sir.” The interview was over. He had made a major concession, and it was more than I had hoped for.
Chapter 24
Our next evening out was like something from an old Hollywood movie. Lizzie was bright and bubbly, and I was smooth and charming. I took her to Antonio’s, the nicest restaurant in Glenwood. It had white tablecloths and soft music, and we talked and laughed all through dinner. Then we went to see El Cid at the Brandenburg Theater. We strolled around town afterward, hands clasped, looking at the Christmas lights in the town square and shop windows, simply enjoying each other’s company.
And then I ruined it.
We passed Farmington Jewelers and saw a pretty display of multicolored lights and greenery in the window. A few inexpensive pieces of jewelry adorned the window, too, along with those colored line-drawing pictures of women standing under sprigs of mistletoe and smiling in delighted surprise as they opened little treasure boxes. I halted, pondering the display, and covered Lizzie’s hand with my gloved one. She had on thick, homemade mittens so I couldn’t see her fingers, but I imagined how a wedding band might look there, and a smile tumbled out of me.
“What?” she asked, smiling in response.
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“I was just thinking—we should visit Farmington’s soon.”
She tilted her head to one side. “Medical students don’t have money for expensive Christmas presents, Billy Ray.” She started to move on. “It’s a nice thought, though.”
“But you’ll have to have a wedding ring.” I protested, knowing as soon as the words were out of my mouth that I’d made a misstep. But maybe it was time for both of us to face the future, whatever it turned out to be. I hated keeping my hopes buried for fear of her discovering my innermost wishes and squashing them under her apprehension like a bug.
The smile slid off her face as she pulled her hand away, abruptly turned so I couldn’t see her face, and strode down the street.
I mentally kicked myself and went after her, not fast enough to catch her—I knew it was best to give her some space when she took off like that—but fast enough to keep her in my sights.
“Gosh darn it, Lizzie! Don’t storm off!” Again! I thought in exasperation.
She stopped, head bowed, and turned to wait for me.
We stood there, the two of us, she with her arms folded and looking at the ground, me with my hands in my coat pockets, shifting my gaze from her dark, curly head to the few cars and people on the square.
I took off my glove and gently stroked her cheek with my fingers before I tilted her chin up to entice her to look at me.
“You must have known, surely, that I was planning to ask you about getting married.”
“I suspected, knowing you. I should have set you straight right away, but—”
“What?”
“I guess I thought that when I said no, you would leave.” She huffed. “It’s not fair to you. I know that. I just…”
“Just…?”
“I’m selfish, I suppose.”
“Oh?”
“I would miss you so much if you left.” Her voice, soft and unsure, quivered like the forlorn strains of the street corner musician’s violin we’d passed on Third Avenue. Then her voice grew stronger as she gathered her courage and spoke again. “I didn’t want to let you go.”
A reluctant smile spread across my face, because in spite of my frustration, I considered this a step forward. “I don’t care if you’re selfish about keeping me close. In fact, I welcome it.” I kissed her cheek, pushed her hair behind her ear, and on impulse, kissed right below her earlobe, feeling my blood simmer up and boil over as I tasted her skin, soft as flower petals. My lips found her mouth and my arms found their way around her, holding her close. Every part of her seemed to soften and melt into me, and my pulse kicked up another notch.
I put my hands under the soft curtain of her hair and held her forehead against mine. Then I let the inner corner of my heart out into the evening air, my words a blazing torch slicing through an uncertain darkness. “I love you, Elizabeth.”
Her body stilled. “I’m not ready for this,” she whispered.
I wondered if that was meant for me or only for herself. It hurt that she didn’t say the words back, although somewhere in the depths of my soul, I believed she did love me. Still, her lack of reciprocation provoked my temper.
“What part of ‘calling on you’ did you not understand? Where did you think this was going?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice was fretful. “Not to this, not right now. So many things can go wrong. What happens when I graduate this year? You still have another year of medical school. And then you have residency. Am I supposed to put a halt to my work, pick up and go wherever you go, just because you’re there?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. We’ll work something out that’s best for both of us.”
“Easy for you to say now, but when it actually happens, you’ll conveniently forget all about this conversation.”
“I won’t forget.”
“You will forget. Every man—”
Exasperation finally won out. “I know, I know. Every man forgets. Every man wants to pigeonhole you into being something you’re not. Every man, every man, every man. I’m not every man, Lizzie. I know what I’m signing up for with you.”
She looked at me and raised one eyebrow.
“Okay, I don’t know exactly what I’m signing up for. But I know enough to know it’s worth it.”
She folded her arms across her chest and stared at me, probably trying to frighten me off, but it wasn’t going to work this time. I gently took her elbow and we strolled the three or four blocks to her boarding house. When we got to the front porch, I led her to the glider and we sat, facing each other, a tense silence and the glow of the streetlight between us.
Saying those three little words out loud to her had given me strength, though, and now I knew what I had to do. “I know what the problem is, honey.” I gave her my best smile and watched with smug satisfaction as her face softened and her eyes got all dark and dewy.
“You do, do ya?”
I nodded, caressing her bottom lip with my thumb, lulling her into that warm, languid place where we’d been just minutes before. And then I let her have it. “You’re afraid.”
The effect was instantaneous. She bulled up, anger bursting from her eyes. I half-expected bolts of lightning to shoot out her fingertips and the ends of her hair. But she had to face the truth if there was any chance for us at all.
“I’m not afraid! I just know I’m not cut out to be anyone’s wife.”
“I agree.”
She stared at me, unsure how to respond.
“You’re not cut out to be anyone’s wife. You’re cut out to be mine.”
“You’ll believe that while you’re all worked up, but words are cheap, Billy Ray.”
“Okay, I’ll concede that much, Miss Know-It-All, but you answer this—how can I ever show you I mean those words if you don’t let me stick around long enough to back them up with actions?”
She didn’t have a ready answer. Encouraged by the silence, I went on.
“You think because someone hurt you in the past
that you can’t trust kindness, that a man’s love isn’t real. But I’m telling you, Lizzie Quinlan, my love is real—so real, it hurts.” Unconsciously, I brought my fist to my heart. “And a love like mine is forever—if you’ll let it be.”
Hope ignited in her expression for a fraction of a second, and then I watched in frustration as she extinguished that hope in the blink of an eye.
“It’s wrong to punish me for what some other man did to you. All that does is make us both miserable. I deserve to be happy—and so do you.”
“No—”
“No? You don’t deserve happiness? Lizzie, we’ve all made mistakes.”
“I know.”
“Or do you not deserve to be happy because, when you were young and innocent, you trusted the wrong person and put yourself on a destructive path for a time?”
“Not exactly, but—”
“You’ve taken yourself off that path now, right?”
“Yes, but that’s not what I—”
“We all can have forgiveness for our mistakes: you, me, our parents, the Orchard Hill gossips, the Neanderthals who used to ogle you from their pick-up trucks, even that low-life who hurt you in the first place.” I hesitated, but I had come too far to turn back now. “Let me ask you, do you forgive”—my mouth twisted with the effort of saying his name—“Seth Corbett for what he did to you?”
“It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter. I’ve moved on. I made a new life for myself in spite of him.”
I wanted to draw her into my arms and hold her like I’d hold and comfort a child. “But see, it does matter. ’Cause until you forgive him, you can’t move on to the life you’re supposed to have—with me by your side.”
I stood up and paced back and forth in front of the glider. “I’ve spent two years thinking about this—about how I felt two years ago when I wanted to marry you and how I’ve changed. I know I wasn’t ready to be a husband that summer. I asked you to marry me for the wrong reasons. I had to become a man who would be worth a woman’s love. I had to forgive Corbett and accept what happened to you. I can let go of my jealousy and anger now—and forgiveness wrenched from malevolence has power. Do you want to hear me say it?” I felt bile rise up in my throat. “I forgive him. I forgive him for seducing you, for leaving you, for hurting you. I forgive him for stealing a part of you that should have been given to me. I forgive him because what he did, in part, made you who you are, and I love who you are.” And as if I’d thrown water on a flame, my anger sputtered and went out. All that was left was a peaceful quiet as the bitterness of my rage dissipated like campfire smoke into a cool, spring morning.